eight minutes
by still burning bridges
Summary: "falling in love is like flying, except in the end, you always hit the ground." she wishes to die. warnings: mentions of sensitive topics; strong language; self-harm; dark themes overall.
1. Chapter 1

"_Misery is almost always the result of thinking."_ – Joseph Joubert

As a sixth year at Hogwarts, I had become accustomed to the melancholy start-of-term family farewells, teary goodbyes, and chaotic racing to be on time. However, it seems like goodbye has always been a bit different. But things have changed.

_That's it, babe. Plaster on a smile and hug your parents. High five your baby brother, throw your little sister a thumbs up. Grin a little bit before turning around. Don't turn back. Don't turn back. Don't turn back. Come on come on, eyes open. You can do this. When you're alone. You can't fall apart until you're by yourself. Not here. Not now. Keep your head up girl. You're the queen of confidence. You're __doing__ fine, just fine. Only a little bit more. Don't give up now, you're doing great! Don't slip up; make them believe you're great. Maybe if they believe it then so will you. Don't think. Don't think. Don't think._

I am knocked out of my thoughts by the feeling of rough wool on my bare skin.

"_Little slut," he snarls, his eyes dark and cruel and evil. "You want this, don't you?" He cackles, throwing his head back, and twisting his hand in my hair, pulling it violently. _

I whip around in surprise, eyes wide, hands balled into little fists at my sides. "Sorry," I mutter, realizing that it is only a boy – just about my age. The wool was just the robes he had slung over his arm, that's all. I turn around quickly, not wanting to attract any attention. I feel a calloused rest on my shoulder and I fight the impulse to shrink back, scream, and run as fast as I can away. _No._ You're not going to relive that night again. Don't think. He's not _him; _he's not going to hurt you. It's alright.I turn around with one eyebrow raised in question, asking what he wanted.

"S'fine," he says in a husky voice. He has semi-long wavy raven hair, complete with stubble and bushy eyebrows. My measly five foot four inches is miniscule next to him. He had to be at least six feet. He smiles at me, and winks. He does not remove his hand from my shoulder. I squirm uncomfortably, because his hand feels like _His _handsand it hurts to breathe all of a sudden. He is close, too close. He is even close enough to kiss. "Last Year Tristan" would have relished this situation but this is "After That Night Tristan" and I am panicking to find a way out. But I feel as if I'm rooted to the spot.

I am saved by a boy who is slightly less tall than the one who has his hand on my shoulder. He rolls his eyes. "Sirius, you idiot, you're going to scare her off. Besides – she doesn't look your type. Her eyes are green, not blue, and you've always said that black hair reminds you of Bella." Somehow, I don't mind that he's talking about me as if I'm not standing there.

Sirius heaves a dramatic sigh and removes his hand and I sag visibly with relief. My entire body relaxes from the tense state it had been in. Act normal. You're okay. As far as he knows, you just don't feel comfortable with strangers touching you. You're not a victim.The other boy turns to me.

"I'm sorry about Sirius; he doesn't mean any harm. Honestly, he's a good guy, he's just...anyway, I'm Remus." He laughs a bit at his random change of subject, and I force a smile onto my face, pretending to relate to his humor.

"Nice to meet you, Remus," I say quietly. My nod is almost imperceptible. "Tristan."

"Interesting name," Remus chuckles lowly, his voice husky as if he has been ill. I can tell he thinks my name is odd but I don't mind. It _is_ rather odd.

"Says the boy named after the myth," I retort, cracking a smile that feels almost real. _I hate this_. A year ago, if someone had told me that it would hurt to breathe and that a smile would exhaust me, I would have told them to go to hell. Now, when someone says go to hell to me, it's all I can do not to say "gladly."

Remus raises an eyebrow. "You know of the story of Remus and Romulus?" He asks with a strange glint in his eye. I can tell that he must either be Muggle born or half blood, because my mother has told me that there is no such myth in Wizarding culture.

"What can I say?" I ask dryly, furrowing my eyebrows. "My dad is a Muggle historian." Under my breath, I add, "and more into the Wizarding world than my mother." I force another smile. "I've actually always loved that myth, how they were literally raised by a wolf."

"I've always wondered why my mother named me after the brother who got killed. Tells you something, yeah?" He jokes wryly, and I can tell that he is glad to have met someone who knows of the story.

"If it's any consolation, I was always rooting for Remus. I threw a fit when my dad told me that he lost the battle. I swear he ruined Rome for me. I had always wanted to visit Rome, but I couldn't enjoy it all because the wrong person won the battle." Immediately I come to the realization that that was the longest sentence I've uttered since the night. It almost feels nice to have a real conversation.

"You've been to Rome?" He remarks, and I notice that we've started walking. "I've always wanted to go there. Italy is my favorite country."

I nod. "My dad may have ruined my childhood in the sense that Rome wasn't nearly as amazing as it should have been, but I can't deny...I'll never get over the Trevi Fountain, or all that stained glass in Vatican City. My favorite, though, was Venice." I pause, closing my eyes and remembering. The people, the canals, the food...the architecture. My dad was in love. So much so that he had even asked my mother if we could move there. She said no, of course; she loves Ireland, for one, and my dad would regret leaving because he's so in love with our little cottage out in the middle of nowhere.

"There was this little restaurant, and the food was so amazing. The same family had owned it for decades. There was this old man who was always there when I would stop in for lunch while my parents were out sightseeing. Everyday he would buy me lunch, even though he didn't have enough money for himself. I kept saying no, and that I could pay for myself, but he was always insisting that 'he wasn't gonna let a lady pay for her own food if he could help it.' He was a really sweet guy."

I pause again. _I haven't rambled on like that since before..._

"That sounds amazing. You're really lucky; our family can't afford to travel. Hogwarts is my vacation." _Oh, my boy, if only you knew._ I do feel for him; we are lucky that my mom works a job that pays such good money. As an advertiser, she gets paid generously. My dad writes for the newspaper, and even though he loves it and I adore reading his articles, it can't pay the bills.

"Oh, don't be so sure, dear boy.

"I doubt I'd be able to either; and I think that it's great that you appreciate what you have. Merlin knows how many people take what they've got for granted." He seems like he knows what he's talking about. I find myself smiling for real this time.

"Thank you, Remus." I reply honestly.

"Would you like to sit in our compartment?" Remus asks suddenly. I realize that it's 10:59 and if we don't hurry we're going to be stranded here on the platform. I nod reluctantly. Although I'm skeptical, I'd rather be around Remus than be alone. Nice, sweet, kind Remus. When I'm alone I think and that's a road I don't want to travel.

"Remus, you dog, have you been flirting with the ladies?" James Potter. If he weren't such a good guy deep down, I would hate him. But he's a genuinely good guy, and he knows what happened that night. He saved me, after all. I would probably be dead right now if it weren't for him. James is one of the few people that I can trust.

James looks at me and freezes, his eyes getting wide. "Merlin… Tristan?" He trails off, and I look pointedly at the compartment full of people, to which he instantly understands. Or at least I hope. _Please James. Don't let them know._

"_We'll talk later," _he mutters to me, and I know he means it. I know that James and I will be talking whether or not I like it. Sirius and Remus look between us with their brows furrowed, while a boy, whose name I _think _may be Paul, just continues eating chocolate, oblivious to what was happening around him.

"Well, you seem to know everybody but Pete," Sirius says jovially, "so, this is Peter."

"Hello," Pete mumbles through mouth full of chocolate, and I wave half-heartedly as I sit down and pull out my book and soon I am lost in the words of Edgar Allan Poe.

_You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded – with what caution – with what foresight – with what dissimulation I went to work. I was never kinder to the old man than in the week before I killed him. _

"_No, Ryan," I say forcefully. "I'm not having sex with you, I don't feel that way about you, even if I did…"_

_He doesn't appreciate this. "You little fucking tease," he hisses. His normal smile is lost to a new one, a cruel, sadistic one. He advances on me and grabs my wrist, tight. It hurts._

"_Ryan, you're hurting me!" I say, brows furrowed. Who is this guy? This is most definitely not the Ryan I know._

"_Good." I whimper, struggling to pull away, but he just tightens his grip._

I must have fallen asleep because when I opened my eyes, Sirius was standing above me with a smirk. My eyes widen and I clench my teeth, trying to fight the overwhelming instinct to _scream, kick, bite, fight, run. _Sirius may seem like a lot of things, but he is not a monster. I know what a monster is, and while Sirius is a heartbreaker, I know that he would never force a girl to do something. "Sleeping beauty, we're at the station."

I must have been tired. I'm still shaking from my dream – my nightmare – but Sirius doesn't need to know. I'm fine, after all.

I slowly stand and stretch, glad I already changed into my robes. I grab my trunk and proceed to the castle. I'm dreading seeing his face. I don't know how I'll react. I'm scared.

I'd never admit it out loud, but I'm really fucking scared.

"Welcome, welcome!" Professor McGonagall explained the Sorting Ceremony to the first years, all of who looked to be quite terrified. I remember being petrified my first time at Hogwarts, fie years ago. I had gotten used to it, now in my Sixth Year, but back then I was terrified, along with most of my other peers. I was relieved to be sorted into Gryffindor, the house of my mum, and I can remember being very confused when _he – _although, back then, he was nothing more to me than my big brother's best friend - was sorted into Ravenclaw – I had been sure he would be Soon the Sorting Hat began to sing.

"_Oh, I'm just an old hat,_

_And hats don't have brains,_

_But you're wrong about that._

_You see, I'm more than an old cap,_

_I can look inside your mind,_

_And I'll tell you where you belong on the Hogwarts map._

_You might be good for Slytherin,_

_Those sneaky, cunning snakes,_

_Are ready to get what they want,_

_They don't mind the stakes!_

_Of course, it might be Gryffindor,_

_Where lions always roar,_

_They're brave and good and daring,_

_And never bow to horror!_

_Then, there is Ravenclaw,_

_With the brighter minds,_

_They'll solve any puzzle_

_Yes, you might of their kind!_

_Last but not least Hufflepuff,_

_True to their every word_

_Loyalty is paramount_

_And they never ever hurt!_

_That's all I have to say,_

_So please don't frown,_

_Don't be shy, not today,_

_For I'm your sorting crown!"_

_Cheesy_. I reflected upon the song. _Perhaps it's running out of ideas._

_And they never ever hurt._ Incorrect. They do hurt. They do hurt.

_Don't think!_

"What's wrong, Tristan?" Remus asks, and I shake my head. _He doesn't need to know. He needs to forget. He needs to forget about me. _

I never had many friends at Hogwarts, besides Holly McCormack, a fellow sixth year, who was in Ravenclaw. She was my best friend. She was never on the train because her mother was a professor here; Mrs. McCormack taught Ancient Runes; but we'd met the first night and I had Owled her almost immediately after "That Night". Neither of us really ever got noticed by anyone as we were both average to most of the Hogwarts population. Few people knew that either of us existed. She was the only one besides James, myself, and _him_ who knew what happened to me that night.She had come over my house as soon as she got the letter. There was a lot of crying and comforting, and I don't think I've ever loved Holly, or appreciated her, more than I had that night.

I loved her like she was my own blood. She practically was.

My only other friend was Damien, a gay Hufflepuff who had been nicknamed _Hufflepoof _by a couple of people. He didn't know, but I did plan on telling him what happened this year. We were fairly close. Once he had beaten up a guy who had blown me off on a Hogsmeade date.

I didn't eat anything at dinner. I sat alone, spoke to nobody, and didn't eat. Holly, of course, was at the Ravenclaw table and Damien at the Hufflepuff. Remus suggested I eat with them, but I waved him off, claiming that I didn't want to intrude. He seemed reluctant to leave me there, but he backed off with no more than worried glance as he walked away towards his friends

As the entirety of the Hogwarts population attempted to make its way out of the Great Hall, I felt a hand on my arm.

"Tristan," James Potter said quietly, "we need to talk."

A/N: So, there's the first chapter for you. Tell me how you like it! I'd love to hear your thoughts; constructive criticism is welcome as well. Also, who do you think should've done it? Amos Diggory? Perhaps an oc? Definitely a Hufflepuff. (Not Damien. He's gay and besides, he's amazing.) How should Lily Evans work into the story? Maybe she finds out? Or does she hear Tristan having a nightmare? Perhaps they should become friends? Who knows…Also, I need suggestions for a better name than this. Oh, this updated, better version is with the great, amazing help of my superfanmaztastic beta, Tinkie. c:

NEXT ON _The Difference Between Surviving and Living:_

_James and Tristan talk, find out what happened!_

_Tristan has a nightmare. Lily wakes her up, and demands to know why she was screaming "Please, no, please, stop, stop!" _

_Severus and Tristan, partners in potions…they become acquaintances. _


	2. Chapter 2

"Sometimes when we put walls up, it's not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to break them down." – Unknown

_You can't disguise a heart while it's breaking_

_You hide behind the smile you're faking_

_It's all about the the chance you're taking_

_Oh, and you know that you're making it all come alive…_

**-My Favorite Highway, You're Making it Come Alive**

"James…" I trail off. I don't want to talk about this right now.

Or ever – I just want to forget.

"No, Tristan," he mutters, glaring at me. "You're not pulling this crap again. You promised we'd talk at Hogwarts." He just had to remember. Why couldn't he have forgotten about it? Dammit. I just want to leave this behind me. I just want to forget. I want to be able to look in the mirror and think anything other than victim, or slut, or disgusting. I just want to be okay again.

I want to want to be alive.

"Fine," I sigh, resigned. I owe him this, at least. We travel with the crowd for some time, and then James discreetly slips us into a vacant classroom. He closes the door without locking it, which is most likely for my sake.

I shivered in terror as I heard the door click shut, and whimpered when I heard the clank and thud of a lock being activated. Please, no.

We stand there for a minute. I do everything in my power to avoid his gaze, tugging at the pocket of my robes, staring pointedly at the floor, shaking my hair into my eyes to veil my face. His stare does not waver and I swallow. "What is there to even talk about?" I rasp out desperately, a lump forming in my throat. I feel the hot, salty tears threaten to spill over, but I fight them back. Don't cry in front of him, Tristan. Let him believe that you're getting over it.

"Oh, Merlin," He whispers roughly, and suddenly his arms are around me and his head is buried in my hair and my face is nuzzled into his neck and I'm crying, my tears trickling down his shoulder to stain his shirt. He's rubbing my back comfortingly, and whispering into my ear, "It's going to be okay, I promise, he'll never hurt you again." I cry harder at this, whimpering quietly, my sobs muffled by his shoulder.

I gasp for breath. "Why, James? Why did he do that to me? I mean – am I really – is what he said true?" I whimper. I take a deep breath, shuddering, and ask calmly, "James, please, be completely honest with me; am I a slut? Did I deserve it?"

He almost growls out loud. "No," he says roughly. "Nobody deserves that, least of all you. Tristan, you're not a slut. I promise you. Not at all – Merlin, Tristan, of course you're not." His words comfort me, although I scarcely believe him.

I smile sadly up at him, my eyes wet. "Thanks, James," I whisper.

We talk for about an hour and by the time we think to head to the dorms, my head is pounding from screaming and sobbing, my eyes are puffy red with crying, and my cheeks are pink and stained due to the tears. But somewhere in the back of my mind, one of the tiny little hairline scars heals over.

That night I go to bed around midnight. It takes me another good hour before falling asleep and I am thankful that today is Saturday. I've still got a day until term begins.

And suddenly we're kissing. His hands are in my hair and on my waist, and I'm gripping his shoulders. Are tongues dance together, and his body presses tightly against mine. I am pinned to the wall by his body and he's leaning closer, if that's even possible. Before I can ever tell what he's doing, his fingers are playing with the hem of my dress. I gasp into his mouth, my hand grabbing his wrist. "No," I whisper.

He growls, and starts violently kissing my neck. I squirm, struggling against his weight. "Stop," I whisper, "please. No."

"No." He snarls, his eyes darkening, with lust and cruelty.

I scream, but only for a split second before his hand comes down over my mouth and nose, pressing. I try to scream against it, whimper, kick at the walls.

"Tristan! Tristan! Tristan!" I hear him scream.

I shoot up in bed, Lily Evans above me. "What on earth were you screaming about? It's four in the morning if you hadn't noticed!"

I'm quivering, shivering, cowering against my headboard. The only thing I manage to tell her is, "nightmare." She nods understandingly, before biting her lip and backing away awkwardly with a half-nod. She crosses the room toward her own bed swiftly, practically diving in, and closing the curtains of the four-poster with more force than necessary. I chuckle dryly before laying back down.

I know, though, that I will get no more sleep tonight. So I simply thank Merlin tomorrow is Sunday, close my eyes, and wait for the sun to rise.

The next morning, after the other Seventh Year Gryffindor Girls have left for their own social endeavors, I am sitting in the bathroom, soaked to the bone as i sit in the shower, fully clothed save for a shirt. I wear a pair of Spongebob Squarepants pajama pants and a simply black-and-red striped bra. I can do nothing but stare at the blood. Blood on my hands, on my arms, on the floor of the shower, swirling down the drain, diluted by water. The pain that grips me soothes me at the same time. It distracts me from everything else. From what happened to me, from my brother not knowing, from James feeling guilty about it even though he saved my life. From the fact that I almost wish he hadn't.

I choke back a scream, because I know that someone is in the common room. There's always someone in the common room, and they would hear, and they would come, and they would see, and they would know. They can't know, nobody can know. They'd ask why. Even James doesn't know about the angry red lines and pale pink marks and stark white stripes that litter my arms. Some long-healed, some still bleeding. He couldn't handle knowing. I know he couldn't.

So I stay silent, telling no one, knowing that if I go on this way I will end up ending it the only way I know I can. They say suicide is the easy way out, but it's not that fucking easy. Trust me when I say that.

I must go to dinner now, I know. I have no desire to starve myself because I am already too skinny. I'm rather bony, a twig, with little shape to speak of.

So I rise from my bed and I pull on a pair of jeans and a black tank top, and then a sweatshirt with my favorite Muggle band on the front, Mayday Parade. I pull on my robes to comply with dress code.

When I arrive at dinner, I sit alone at the end of the table, ready for a quick escape once I've eaten my fill of food. I take the plate in front of me and put a few cherries on it, along with a leg of turkey and two scoops of mashed potatoes. I'm quite shocked when James Potter sits down across from me as if we've been best friends for years, followed by Remus Lupin sitting next to me, Peter Pettigrew next to him (seemingly relieved to have a male between him and the nearest being with female reproductive organs), and Sirius Black next to Potter. I raise my eyebrow questioningly at James

He frowns. "We're sitting with you, Tristan." He says with finality. I huff unhappily. My sleeves tend to slide down when I'm eating; secluding myself in a corner allows me time to yank them up before anybody can see the crimson-stained skin, or the scabbed over, obviously-self-inflicted cuts. On their own, individually, one would've been simply a cat scratch, or an old scar from an unfortunate encounter with a broken glass.

But with as many as there are, and in such uniform lines, it is painfully obvious what I've done to myself.

But at this proximity, somebody, most likely Sirius, from his angle, would be able to see and if I know anything about Sirius Black, he cares about who his friends care about, and as deluded as I think him for it, James cares about me. Black would not simply let it go as easily as oh, say, Pettigrew would. He would take me aside and interrogate me, maybe tell James. Hopefully the sleeves of my shirt are tight enough not to fall down my arms.

I glare at James for a brief moment, then turn back to my food, aggressively stabbing my turkey leg. I take an anything-but-lady like bate from it, chewing and swallowing, before sighing. "Why? I much prefer sitting alone."

Black snaps, "Well tell us how you really feel, Fields, don't hold back." I look down.

"Sirius," Lupin chastises quietly. "Don't take your anger out on her."

"Well sorry for being offended that she'd rather sit alone than allow us the honor of sitting by her. What, Fields, your fucking highness, are we not worthy of your presence?" Black says scathingly, and I sigh.

"That's not what I meant. I'm just not the easiest person to be around and I know that and although for whatever reason James has taken it upon himself to put up with me, he shouldn't drag you all along, because I'm sure you don't enjoy my presence nearly as much as he seems to." I say, quietly, my voice laced with self-loathing.

"I'm sorry," Black says, albeit reluctantly, and I have a sneaking suspicion James or Lupin may have kicked him in the leg.

"Don't be. It did come off as a bit high-and-mighty, didn't it?" I chuckle dryly, causing James to raise a surprised eyebrow. Oh, shut up, Potter, just because I'm a suicidal little victimized shite doesn't mean I don't make any effort at all to enjoy myself. I take a small bite of mashed potatoes, and then suck down a cherry, taking the pit and placing it on my napkin.

After I've finished with dinner, I stand, and yawn. The left sleeve of my robe slips down to my elbow and I snap my arms down so fast I hit the table. Nobody notices but Black, who peers at me strangely. My shirt sleeve didn't fall, thankfully, so I haven't been discovered, but my actions were rash in the eyes of others, and Black could get suspicious. He's actually quite bright, I've found. n

I swallow, say a quiet goodbye, and sweep out of the Great hall as quick as I can without raising suspicion. Once I'm free, I allow myself to take a deep breath. I decide to take a walk and find myself travelling toward the dungeons. I've got an hour or two before curfew, so I allow myself to wander aimlessly through the halls.

I think about my brother.

He's such a sweet guy. And i have no doubt that if he ever found out, he wouldn't hesitate to try and murder the one who did it. He's always been ridiculously protective of me. When he thought my boyfriend of two months had taken my virginity, he put the poor guy in the hospital. Never wanted anything to do with me after that.

I'm so lost in thought that I trip on my own robes and tumble onto the ground, both my robe and my shirt sleeve sliding to my elbow, revealing the evidence of my self-harm. I hear a voice and my eyes widen.

"Are you okay?" The voice asks, getting closer. It's male, and slightly drawling, and bored-sounding. I recognise the voice to belong to Severus Snape, my potions partner from last year. I imagine Slughorn will pair us together this year, as well, as we're the best students he has. Severus and I have become cautious acquaintances over time, and we tolerate each other. Sometimes we would even enjoy the other's company. He almost smiles when he sees me. "Tristan," he drawls. "Ever the-" and then his eyes lock onto my bare arm. They lock onto the hundreds of little white lines, pale pink scars, bright-crimson cuts. All obviously intentional.

He looks nauseous. He blinks, helps me up, and pulls me gently into a broom closet.

Why do I keep ending up alone with boys late at night in secluded places?

I glare at him as he closes the door. Then he advances on me, taking the arm he saw in hand, albeit extremely gently, and looking at it.

"What is this?" He almost spits.

I decide to play stupid. "What are you talking about?" I ask innocently.

"Don't play stupid with me! Give me one good reason why I shouldn't bring you to Dumbledore this instant!" He growls, glaring at me intimadingly. I glare back.

"Well, you wouldn't want it getting out to your little friends that you actually have a heart." I say nervously. He sighs, and I know I have him there. He's not a bad person, and I know that. But his little friends don't, and they believe him a death eater, and I know that he probably will become one.

The thought of my friend, my genuinely good friend, becoming something so evil, something he hates, sickens me. It sickens me to the bone. He deserves so much more.

"Just – _why?" _He chokes out, his eyes desperate, and he almost seems…vulnerable. Severus, he's never vulnerable.

"Severus, I…"

"I swear to Merlin Tristan, so help me I will bring you to Dumbledore right now with no regard for what may happen to me afterward as a result if you don't fucking tell me _why!" _He snarls, his nostrils flaring, and his eyes wide and dark with concern.

I sigh. I know it's no empty threat. "Um, over the summer, in, um, July, the Potters, they had a party. And my brother's friend was over, and my brother fell asleep. His friend, he came down and asked if I wanted to go to the party. I said yes, and I went and got ready, and I guess my dress was kinda short. Basically…well, we ended up snogging. I didn't want to do it, Severus. I said no. He just…he wouldn't listen."

Severus gasps, and it sinks in. "Tristan, did he…did he – did he rape you?"

Tears streaming down my face, I nod helplessly, and let out a sob. Soon they wrack my body and I keel over, clutching my stomach, inhuman noises ripping their way from my throat as I cry. Severus bites his lip, before awkwardly wrapping his arms around me. I muffle my cries into his shoulder.

"I should go," I whisper some time later. He nods.

"Promise me you won't do it again," he pleads.

"I should go," I repeat.

**Sad…I've always liked Severus. Be a dear and review? Tell me what you think.**


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